


Lips of an Angel

by Weissnichtwo (LoudenSwain713)



Category: Bandom, Fall Out Boy, My Chemical Romance
Genre: Affairs, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Angst, But there's very little of it, Cheating, Drama, Fluff, M/M, One Shot, Touring, Warped Tour 2005, Yes I'm using the stereotypical band lyric for a title
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-22
Updated: 2017-11-22
Packaged: 2018-12-15 21:47:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,915
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11814834
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LoudenSwain713/pseuds/Weissnichtwo
Summary: We all know about the summer of 2005. We know about Pete Wentz and Mikey Way and their relationship. But what we don't know is how that affected Patrick Stump and Ray Toro. And finding that out might be pretty interesting. After all, how do you think you would react if you found out your boyfriend was cheating on you with one of your friends?Rated T for language.It's better than the summary, I promise. I just can't write summaries, apparently.Previously titled 'Is It Still Me That Makes You Sweat?'Dedicated to my friend Summer, who wanted an "angsty Rikey fanfic". I tried.





	Lips of an Angel

Something was off. Ray didn’t know what it was. The sounds of the bus were normal. Frank was messing with his guitar in the mini studio they had back there. It sounded nice, relaxing. Ray could see Gerard turning fitfully in his sleep, could hear his sheets rustling. He was tempted to wake him, but a few hours of tormented sleep were better than an hour long, high-energy performance after staying up for the past twenty-six hours. Bob was tapping his fingers on his bunk, humming a tune that sounded suspiciously like the end of Venom. Ray’s own coffee mug clanked against the table as he searched for that last sound, as he realized what was missing. Shouldn’t there be another sound, that of a bass, coming from the studio? Shouldn’t Mikey be accompanying Frank?

Panic surged through him. Ray knew he was being completely irrational; Mikey was 23 after all, he could handle himself. Well, he used to be able to. But recently he had been growing more and more unstable: arriving to sound checks late, stumbling in at three in the morning with alcohol on his breath, avoiding Ray. That last one stung a bit more than he was willing to admit.

Gerard was barely tolerant of his brother’s actions, though Mikey accused him of being a hypocrite, their quiet arguing floating through the small space of their bus. He drew the line somewhere, though, thankfully. He refused, absolutely, adamantly refused to let Mikey smoke by himself. It was too dangerous, he said. “See, Mikey’s a risk taker,” he explained once to Ray. At Ray’s incredulous expression, he had elaborated. “Not all the time, obviously, but when he’s high or drunk or whatever, he doesn’t give a fuck about what anyone thinks about him. He’s completely out of control, and, as his older brother, it’s my job to keep him as safe as I can.”

Ray sincerely doubted that Mikey agreed with his brother’s statement, and later, as his hands ran through Mikey’s soft hair, his theory was confirmed. “I can’t believe him! He’s treating me like a child!” Mikey had turned his head to look up at him. “You’re not siding with him, are you?” His voice had turned accusatory, and Ray tried to loosen his muscles and calm his heart, but it was obvious Mikey had felt him tense.

“No, of course not. I...see both sides of the argument. But I agree more with yours!” he hastily amended, seeing Mikey’s face start to turn into something almost stone-like.

Mikey had grinned, snuggling up into Ray’s side. “Good,”

Ray let out a long breath. That had been the last time in a while Mikey had been so free with him, before the arguing escalated and Frank and Ray were thrown into the middle of it. Ray had seen Mikey with his bass an hour ago, but Ray had mostly been in his head since then. Anything could’ve happened.

He rose slowly and made his way to where Frank was sitting hunched over his instrument. “Hey,” he greeted.

“Hey,” Frank responded, mumbling a bit as his eyes remained focused on the fretboard.

“You seen Mike lately?”

Frank’s looked up at Ray, letting out a whoosh of air. “You’re almost as bad as Gerard,” he grinned, setting his guitar aside. “I think he left twenty minutes ago, almost.” He paused. “Why?”

Ray shrugged, trying and failing to act nonchalant. “No reason. Just wondering.”

Frank snorts, “Bull. Mikey can take care of himself. He’ll be back in a little bit, you’ll see.” With that, Frank turned back to his guitar and Ray considered himself officially dismissed.

Feeling a bit miffed, Ray trudged back to the lounge area, all three chairs of it, and sat down again, picking up his now room-temperature cup of coffee. He wouldn’t call. That would just confirm Mikey’s theories of being distrusted. He would be back before too much time passed, anyway.

Needless to say, Mikey did not return anytime soon. Hours ticked by, painfully slowly, until the sun had long since sunk beneath the horizon and everyone else had gone to sleep. Frank came in once, around ten, to tentatively pat Ray reassuringly on the shoulder before returning to his bunk. Cup after cup of coffee was refilled, and Ray had just about worn out his fingers by rapidly pressing the ON button to check his messages every 15 seconds.

He had debated waking Gerard up and telling him, but he ultimately decided against it. Gerard’s restless movements had ceased about two hours ago and he was sleeping peacefully now. Ray knew, as much as the man had been through, it wouldn’t be good to wake him. If Mikey wasn’t back in the morning, which he would be so Ray really shouldn’t even be thinking about that, he would tell Gerard then.

He had no choice but to wait, then. The hours crawled by so slowly that one hour seemed like a hundred. Ray hated this. He hated this feeling of powerlessness because Mikey could be hurt and then what would he do? But, eventually, as the night turned later, he had to face the reality of the situation. Realistically, Mikey was probably in some club doing something that Ray would prefer not to think about. Realistically, he would be fine. So Ray passed the hours sitting there, staring at the door and his phone and back again, waiting for Mikey to walk in, to call, to text, anything.

It’s maybe five in the morning, late enough that the city was already bustling but early enough that three-fifths of the band My Chemical Romance were sleeping soundly. Ray dozed fitfully, jerking up every few seconds before sinking back into unconsciousness. It was during a moment of consciousness that Mikey entered the bus, and as Ray’s head shot up, Mikey stepped inside. Their eyes met and both of their hearts plummeted.

Ray noticed, almost immediately, that Mikey’s hat was off. He almost never went anywhere without that thing, and now it was gone. His jacket was wrinkled too, like it had been slept in or it had been thrown haphazardly across the room. Ray desperately, foolishly hoped it was the former. There was also the faint smell of alcohol and sweat and...something else. Ray did not want to name it. Unfortunately, that meant his suspicions were now confirmed. His eyes narrowed and the worry he had harbored for the entire night evaporated at the sight of the bassist standing in front of him. In its place, anger rose. “Where were you?”  
Mikey swallowed. “I...um. I can explain, Ray.”

“Oh you can, can you? Please, explain to me where you’ve been all night in a way that _doesn’t_ sound like you cheated on me!”

Mikey flinched, and for half a second Ray felt sorry. But then he remembered that it was Mikey’s choice to go out and get drunk anyway. That he had been the one who insisted on going and getting a cheap, meaningless lay, and suddenly any sympathy Ray had toward Mikey evaporated. “I’m sorry,” Mikey said finally, his voice soft.

“Are you? Are you really? I stayed up _all night_ for you! I was _worried_ for you! And this is my reward? You sneaking in here at five in the morning like a fucking teenager?!”

Mikey swallowed again. “Ray, I didn’t-I wasn’t thinking-”

“No, you weren’t. You weren’t thinking about what this would mean for you, or for us.” Ray had calmed some, his words becoming softer but more infused with bitterness and scorn.

Mikey froze, a thought occurring to him that hadn’t before. “...Us?”

Ray couldn’t help it. He laughed, a loud, derisive sound that probably woke the whole band, but honestly, at that point, he didn’t fucking care. “You’re kidding me! You _actually_ thought you could get away with this, didn’t you?”

Mikey didn’t answer. He didn’t get a chance to. “Guys, what’s going on?”

They both turned to the side to see Gerard standing there, sleep still in his eyes. Ray shook his head. “Your _brother_ decided to stay out all night. You can talk to him. I’m getting some sleep.”

Ray brushed past Gerard, storming to his bunk and crashing down onto it, not even bothering to change into anything that resembled sleep clothes. Turning onto his side, he found Frank’s eyes in the darkness, starting when they gazed back at him. Ray didn’t quite know how, but he somehow got a spike of sympathy from the fellow guitarist. He had a feeling then that his conversation with Mikey hadn’t been as discreet as he had hoped. He fell asleep quickly after that, his mind and body consumed by the ever-present tiredness that constantly surrounded all on the tour.

 

He woke a few hours later to a refreshing smell of food wafting from the ‘kitchen’ they had. _Bacon_. His stomach rumbling quietly, Ray slid down from his bunk and stepped eagerly into the kitchen-only to stop abruptly. Michael (not Mikey, not now) stood in front of a table, doling out portions of various breakfast foods. Ray narrowed his eyes. “What are you doing?”  
Michael offered a smile, one that turned into an almost-grimace when he saw Ray’s face. “Oh, well, I thought we all might need a nice breakfast after the past couple of weeks of fast food, and so I went to this cafe and got us all...bacon, eggs, toast, oh, and they had biscuits and gravy, which I know you like! So I got that.”

Ray just stared at him, impassive. He wasn’t an idiot, he knew what Michael was trying to do. “No thanks, I’m good.” He turned to Gerard. “Soundcheck at eleven, right?”

Gerard murmured a quiet, stunned affirmation. Without another word, Ray left the bus.

 

“Hey man,” the guitarist said, walking up to him. “I heard what happened last night. You alright?”

Ray jumped some, surprised at the intrusion. “Huh? Oh, yeah. Fine. Thanks, Patrick.”

Patrick looked at him, obviously unconvinced. “Sure you are. Look, you don’t have to talk to me, but...talk to someone, ok? I know how you feel.”

Ray didn’t scoff. He _didn’t_. He was better than that. “Yeah. Sure you do, kid.”

Patrick bit his lip, and there was something in his gaze. A quiet, reserved anger. “I’m not a kid, I’m 21. And I _do_ know what that’s like, losing the love of your life to someone else.”

Ray was consumed by a sense of defensiveness (because _how_ did this kid know how he felt about-) and curiosity (because who was he talking about?) and pity (because he was entirely too young to have his heart broken...right?). But his question was cut off by Frank coming over and telling him they were going to play through Helena real quick. He watched Patrick shuffle off, his hands in his pockets, hat drooping slightly on his head, and Ray wished he could stay and comfort the poor kid.

The concert was a horrible thing to endure. Ray kept getting distracted by Michael’s hair, shining in the harsh light, and his hands, plucking the strings of his bass with ease, and-and why the _hell_ was he thinking about that right now? It didn't matter though, because as much as Ray tried to force his mind back onto the subject of playing, he kept getting swept away. Eventually, his hands just went into auto-pilot.

Ray spent the entire concert consumed by thoughts of Michael: bitter thoughts, filled with disappointment and anger and disgust. Pleasant thoughts were there as well, occasionally popping up with memories of lazy mornings and sleepy kisses and the way Michael’s ( _Mikey’s_ ) voice sounded just after he’d woken up.

But the anger was always there. The fact that Michael had just left, had just up and _left_ , leaving the rest of the band, leaving _Ray,_ to worry about him. And then only to find out he was fine the whole time?! To find out that he was God-knows-where with God-knows-who doing God-knows-what! The whole thing made Ray’s blood boil.

Their performance was over soon, too soon for Ray’s liking. As long as he was playing, he could keep from interacting with Michael. He wouldn’t ever be able to stop thinking of him, but playing gave him an excuse to avoid any sort of interaction.

He walked off stage after the appropriate amount of time, approaching Patrick. Ray opened his mouth to continue their conversation from earlier when something caught his eye. Pete was walking away from the wings of the stage, something that in itself wasn’t so unusual. After all, Patrick was here, and most of the bands stayed nearby to watch the others. But Pete...Pete was holding Mikey’s hat.

Suddenly, Ray was aware of the fact he couldn’t breathe. Rage and panic and mortification surged through him, and it took everything in his power not to run and start screaming at the bassist. He was pulled out of his paralysis by a hand on his shoulder. “Ray? Are you alright?” Patrick again.

“Uh…” was all that Ray could get out. At least he was breathing again, though. The hand on his shoulder tightened, fully rousing him from his mind. “Um, Pete...and Mikey...they…” Ray wasn’t able to finish.

He almost missed the flash of pain that crossed Patrick’s face. Suddenly everything fell into place. Earlier, when they were talking...had Patrick been referring to _Pete_? “Yeah,” he mumbled.

“Wait, you knew?” Ray hissed. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

Patrick backtracked hastily, his eyes wide. “I didn’t know who he was cheating on me with, just that he was. And then, this morning, when I heard, it all slid into place.” He paused, glancing down. “I’m sorry, Ray.”

“Me too,” he said thickly.

 

They were attending yet another after party, and Ray almost couldn’t handle it. Not the lights, those he’d gotten used to months ago, nor the smell, because after awhile you could get used to sweat and alcohol. It was Michael he couldn’t handle. Or more specifically, Michael and Pete. Ray didn’t quite know how much each had drunk, but it must have been quite a lot because the two were practically making out. And not in a secluded corner either, but on one of the couches. Ray wasn’t staring at them. He _wasn’t_.

Making a decision, he went over to the cooler and got himself another bottle of beer. There was no way he’d get through this unaided. Sitting down again in an almost-empty section of the room, memories wormed their way to the top of his mind.

_They were sitting in a cafe, on break from recording, and Mikey was laughing. Ray had said something, something that had been just as stupid as his other jokes. But Mikey was laughing, so it was worth it. Pure joy radiated from his eyes, and Ray wanted nothing more than to stay in that moment forever._

_Another memory: this one a few months later. Ray watched Mikey sleep, his eyes tracing the skin of his back as it rose and fell with every breath. He was intent on etching every single centimeter of skin into his memory. He would not forget this, not this moment or this man or this feeling._

Ray was drawn out of his thoughts by an unannounced voice. “You too?”

It was Patrick. He stood a few feet away, face tired, shoulders drooping slightly. With a sigh, he dropped down into the chair beside Ray. Ray swallowed, his throat suddenly dry at the reminder of what was happening only a few yards away. “Yeah.”

Patrick laughed a little, bitterness infusing the sound. “How did this happen? How did we get here? I thought, when we started this tour, that everything was good. Goes to show how much of an idiot I am.”

“No,” Ray shook his head. “You didn’t do anything wrong. It’s all them. They’re the idiotic ones. You’re a good kid, Patrick. Pete was stupid to give you up. He’ll realize that soon.”

The younger man tried to smile at him. It didn’t quite work. “Then why does it feel as if my heart is being ripped out of my chest while he continues on, unaffected?”

Ray exhaled forcefully. “I don’t know. Honestly, I don’t. I wish I did, because then maybe it would hurt a little less.”

Patrick nodded, somewhat sadly, and Ray pretended to not notice the tears shining in his eyes. The lead singer stood up abruptly. “You want another beer? I’m gonna go get one.”

Ray, after pausing for a moment, replied. “No, I’m good. Thanks though.”

"As Patrick went to get a drink, Ray’s gaze unintentionally drifted to Michael and, subsequently, Pete. And holy _shit_ did that hurt. He didn’t think it would hurt that bad.

They had calmed down since earlier, and Pete’s hand laced through Michael’s, his other hand tangled in the younger man’s hair. Michael was curled up against Pete’s side, his arms wrapped around the man’s waist. A spike of jealousy and anger shot through Ray. How _dare_ they? Didn’t they know both Ray and Patrick were there?

Catching a flash of Patrick’s hair through the crowd, Ray sped toward him. He caught up with the singer and tapped him on the shoulder. He turned toward the guitarist, and by the solemn look in his eyes, Patrick had seen Pete and Michael. “On second thought, I think I will have that beer.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading this! Constructive criticism is appreciated!


End file.
